


a kinder thing

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Requited Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: Dimitri and Dedue catch up on an unfinished conversation from their childhoods.For Dimidue Week 2020.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	a kinder thing

**Author's Note:**

> IM HYPED FOR DIMIDUE WEEK
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!

It  _ aches _ , sometimes. Mostly in the night, during long absences of companionship or welcome presence, when the shadows cast by the moon through the window tremble and shift without purpose. It aches whether he likes it or not, and regardless of the companionship Dimitri brings him during the day. 

_ Loneliness _ , Dedue thinks. It’s not the right word, not entirely; it’s still as close as he can come to describing the encroaching absence which he feels throughout his body on most nights. A feeling which has been there since he was torn from his family, from his homeland- since they were torn from him. Which haunts him in the same way seals emerging from the ocean drag seaweed around on their backs, near-helpless to shift the debris. 

The Duscurian and Faerghian traditions regarding death are distinct. Dedue knows that. Back at home, shrines were made for the dead to fill the gaps their absence left, and in the offerings left at the foot of said stone monuments, all feelings could be placed aside. Not to be forgotten about, but simply to remain in place. Thanks to that, he’d never had to think about his grandmother, who passed after a long life, or his uncle, bound to the earth after being struck by an illness passing through his village. At least, he’d never had to think of their suffering. 

Now, though, he can’t help but feel he’s grieving in the Faerghian manner. Letting the dead live, unruly and ill at rest, in his mind, without quarter or constraint. Their faces and their hands and things as small as their clothes and the inflection of their voices- all drifting, aimless within him. 

That, there, is the ache. Akin to hauling around their shrines within his stomach, allowing them to weigh him down. Bitterly, half asleep and frothing like milk, he remarks to himself:  _ Faerghian violence brings a suitably Faerghian pain _ . 

It begets, too, a Faerghian future. Not solely in the physical sense- that, Dedue has resigned himself to. Not comfortably, but with the acknowledgement that what he seeks is where he is. A mountain goat must sink its hooves into the steepest of cliffs to avoid falling, regardless of the temptations of a risky escape in the face of the steep drop below. Rather, it is in the emotional sense- what has been left behind for him is the need to seek the path of justice. Not vengeance- he has little hope for such- but a slow creep towards retribution, much as moss spreads into the cracks running through stone. 

It is a path, a legacy, which threatens to ache even harder should he dwell on it. In the darkness of the night, moonlight seeping through the window casts light onto the blankets which cover Dedue’s resting frame. 

He watches it, in some effort at distraction. In the most shadowed part of his brain, he’s not sure how anyone lets such feelings flower within them- not without being driven mad. 

-

“When you grow up, do you think you’ll get married?” 

If he shuts his eyes- ignores the voice that speaks the question- for one moment, Dedue knows he can pretend he’s being pestered by his sister again. That, sitting by his side on a sunny day, his shoulder held in a vice-grip, she’s asking him questions about what he’ll do when he’s older. A world closer to him than her- now, forever only his. 

He doesn’t. As a trick of the mind, it’s getting old, and as uneasy as it makes him, he’s slowly coming to terms with the world as it is. Not happily, but with a resignation that caps a bubbling spirit down below. 

And, truth be told, it’s not so bad to talk to Dimitri. He knows they’re not the same- that they never will be- but it’s hardly as if Dedue isn’t used to the concept of social status. With their communication barrier wavering over time, and the temptation to bury themselves in their grief becoming a bitter lure, they’ve made conversation about plenty of regular things before. Favourite colours, seasons, flowers, foods- the latter of which Dimitri was markedly vague about, to Dedue’s disappointment. Cooking is one of the things he’s brought from home, and if they’re friends-  _ which they might be, to the extent that they can be _ \- then Dedue would like to at least try cooking for him. That was the first rule of companionship, at least as his mother taught him- to feed your friends.

“...Perhaps.” Dedue mutters. If none of this had ever been the case- well, Dimitri wouldn’t be there to ask him this, but that’s to be put to the side for the moment- Dedue would have given a committed yes. Everyone he’d known, once they’d hit adulthood, had married- there wasn’t much else to it. Marriage was a symbol of security, of unity. Of continuation, too.

In the narratives passed down from the traders who came through the villages surrounding the old capital, Dedue had learned a fair amount about Fodlani nobility- one point of emphasis being their incredible attachment to their bloodlines, rendering the subject of reproduction one of almost universal obligation for those who carried it correctly (something to do with “crests”- Dedue had been meaning to ask Dimitri whether he had one, and if he did, what it meant about him). Such attitudes, Dedue had noted, did not reflect themselves even amongst the wealthy and well-statused in Duscur. But there was a pull, still, if for no other reason but love. An announcement of it, a public commitment to a soul-binding bond. 

“I don’t know if it would be feasible.” he continues, glance fixed on the floor. They’re outdoors, and Dimitri is picking spare blossoms for Dedue to press between the heavy books that are too advanced for his current grasp on the script of the Faerghian language- much easier to speak, he thinks, than it is to write. 

“By the time they’re finished,” Dimitri had asserted, “we’ll hopefully have made enough progress to use the books themselves.” And though Dedue had doubted it, he hadn’t wanted to knock his confidence, not when he’d seen one of his rare smiles plastered on his face as he’d spoken the words. 

“Why not?” Dimitri inquires, fingertips pressed at the base of an emerging wildflower bud. He picks it before Dedue can formulate an answer- somehow, with much more strength than Dedue assumes he knows is appropriate. After all, the clutch of blossoms in his other palm- and the fact that Dedue hasn’t gently corrected him yet- is evidence of his ability to do it right. Sometimes, though, Dimitri yanks the entire plant out like it’s an autumn root, and seems rather distressed about the whole affair. 

Dedue rewinds briefly, back to the subject of marriage. “I would wish to share my life with someone who shares my interests, and who would be interested in creating a livelihood together.” There’s a third caveat, one that Dedue doesn’t speak-  _ that they’d have to be a man _ . At least in Duscur, it’s not too great of a taboo, but it is unusual for a healthy young man like him to have no interest in women whatsoever. Dedue stays quiet on it, then- to be more unusual is perhaps the most undesirable prospect at this time. “Such a candidate may no longer exist.”

“Hm.” Dimitri lifts himself from where he kneels, surveying the hole left behind by the flower pulled from the crust of the dirt. 

“I hope you’re able to find someone, Dedue. Truly.” There’s something imperceptible in his voice, an emotion Dedue is so unused to that he’s not sure if he can identify it in the first place. “If you can’t, I’ll find you someone.”

“Dimitri-” Dedue begins, before he goes silent, lacking the words to express anything worthwhile. 

“And then I’ll come to your wedding.”

“It will not be a wedding befitting a king.” Dedue interjects. At the implication that he will marry, or that he will allow Dimitri to match-make him, he flinches, but it’s too late to correct his statement. Not when a flicker of a smile passes across Dimitri’s face at the seriousness of his statement, wound-tight but concealing something truer beneath it. 

“I will attend,” he retorts, “and then it will be.” 

“I wish to marry in Duscur.” 

Dimitri’s face turns serious, as well as somber. The fist which clutches the plucked petals trembles, almost imperceptibly. “You will, then. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And will you come, then?”

“I’d want nothing more.” 

There’s little Dedue can think of to say against that. Dimitri certainly seems determined, and if they’re to stay close for as long as Dedue would like them to be (of course, for his own purposes, but for his character too) he supposes that it would be amiss to not invite him. He will, though, be kept away from any and all of the floral arrangements. 

It strikes Dedue, though, that Dimitri mentions nothing of his own nuptials. 

-

What’s strange to Dedue about the end of the war isn’t the ending. He’s thought, many a time, of how their last battle may play out, of how Byleth will guide them towards their final victory. He hasn’t doubted it- he’s not sure if he could have handled such a scepticism. Not when so much has been riding on this, for him and everyone else.

No- what’s strange is the world beyond that. A world which exists almost entirely in abstract consideration, rather than in a decisive path set out in Dedue’s mind. He has his ideals, of course, and his goals, paving the edges of the path forward. Events he wants to set up, and treaties he’d be nothing but eager to sign. 

But now it’s tangible, he sometimes finds himself aimless. Wandering through the halls of Fhirdiad castle like a spirit unleashed, tethered to the place it died. 

_ Is this loneliness?  _

Dedue knows that he hasn’t given himself much space to be lonely. He’s been alone, yes- but he’s always considered himself so self-driven that if he was lonely, then he wasn’t thinking of it.  _ Loneliness is _ , he’d told himself,  _ a poor companion on a one-man quest _ . 

Now, though. He has Dimitri- somehow, he even has him as a friend. Moreover, he’s still by Dimitri’s side, a crucial figure in the restructuring of the Royal foreign affairs department. They see each other in the morning, at lunch, and in the evening. If he were to be injured, then he would be the first to know of it, and vice versa. He would head straight to Dimitri’s bed, and Dimitri would do much the same for him. 

In the emptiness of the moonlit corridor, it strikes him:  _ that they’re not talking _ . They exchange words, yes, words which are restricted to business talks and pleasantries. And in the world that they shared in their youth, it’s suddenly so much more pointed when Dimitri is stolen away by some officiant before they can finish eating breakfast in time with each other, or when Dedue is called upon to arrange the visitation of a diplomat from Morfis (a new one, following a coup that has been the subject of nearly all of his and Dimitri’s longer conversations over the past month).

What also strikes him in that moment is the voice which emerges from behind- more gravelly than Dedue was ever sure he’d be used to it being, but nonetheless a pleasant one to hear. 

“You’re up late.” It feels like a trick of the mind to hear Dimitri saying that to him, rather than Dedue speaking it to Dimitri. Still, at the sound of his voice, Dedue turns around. 

  
“That is true.” He pauses, looking down the corridor at where Dimitri stands. Metres away, but seemingly much closer. “I find myself… restless.”

Illuminated as he is by the moonlight, Dedue can see an impish grin flicker across Dimitri’s face. Dedue reckons, then, that the irony is not lost on him either. 

“If you seek to divulge anything, I am here to provide a listening ear.” 

“Do not let me trouble you-”

“Nonsense,” Dimitri interjects, “to provide you with some comfort is the opposite of trouble.” 

Hearing that, Dedue ducks his head and takes a few coy steps further. “Very well.” For a moment, the words do not come clear and fluid into his mouth, and he pauses to contemplate the best way to express them. Dimitri stands, patient, and observes how the moonlight hits Dedue’s focused expression. 

Eventually, he lifts his head to speak. “It is a strange predicament. It is not a worrying one, so do not concern yourself too greatly with it.”

“Go on.” 

“...Perhaps it is shallow,” Dedue begins, “but I feel as if there is very little time for conversation between the two of us. In the course of our work, we may speak often on the subject of the task at hand, but we reserve no space for enriching discussion.”

Dimitri smirks, weary. “Have I been pestering you too often on the ongoing matter of Morfis?” 

“Not at all.” Dedue asserts. It’s not entirely true, and he knows that- but it’s also not Dimitri’s fault that business must proceed as expected, and that the two of them are very much integral to the progression of such business. “It is more that being here reminds me of the time we spent together in our youth.” 

“I apologize, Dedue. I am aware that we have not been spending much time together outside of a formal context.” Dimitri’s smirk turns into something closer to a fond smile, warm and comfortable in proximity with Dedue. “I do not blame you for thinking of our youth in times like these. We used to share a bed, after all.” 

At the mention of that, Dedue flushes. “Only during the most restless of nights. And I do not mean to draw a direct comparison. We are older, now. Busier. And some of the things which we practiced before would now be”- he hesitates- “...unseemly.”

“That is true,” Dimitri concedes, “But you are right to miss our more casual interactions. It is late, but I would be perfectly content to meet you on the balcony for an exchange of words.” 

A little part of Dedue feels guilty at the prospect of doing such- it’s late, and he suspects the instinct to persuade Dimitri into bed at the appropriate time will never leave him. But he knows that Dimitri has been sleeping with regularity, even if some of the distressing aspects of doing such are only gradually being alleviated. So it is not entirely tainted when Dedue nods, silent, and allows Dimitri to draw closer- eventually passing him in the hallway, giving him purchase to follow. Only when they stand before the open archway which brings the two of them to the garden overlook does Dimitri stop, stock-still, clothes blowing in the gentle breeze. 

“It’s a beautiful night.” 

Without recourse, Dedue nods. He steps forward, thick leather boots on the cold tiled stone laid throughout the exterior areas of the castle. He savours the clean transition from the inside to the outside- it will be colder soon, with the first anniversary of their final battle together having just passed. The doors, currently taken down for repair, will have to be replaced with expediency. 

“We used to spend a lot of time in these gardens.” 

It’s a statement, but one that invites comment from Dedue. 

“Do you miss it?” 

Dimitri chuckles. “You don’t wait to ask the hard questions, do you?”

“I was simply-”

  
“No, no.” Dimitri purrs. “I understand. If we’re only talking about the gardens, then- yes. I miss the time we shared together in them. But very little about that world is desirable. Not anymore.”

“We had more time to talk.” Dedue points out.

“All because we were rather helpless. Our busyness- it is the result of what we have worked for. How far we have come from that hopeless point.” Still, Dimitri sighs. “I do remember our conversations fondly.”

“I am glad to hear that, Dimitri.” With both of their youth spent in some sort of pain, it brings Dedue a warmth to know that he brought Dimitri the comfort that he had given him. The combination of such heat and the cool night air makes the tips of his fingers tingle, something akin to how he imagines magic must feel upon its use. 

“There was one,” Dimitri continues, “where we discussed marriage.”

A part of Dedue’s heart twitches at the mention. The conversation comes back to him almost instantly, despite how long ago it took place. 

“You mentioned that you planned to marry in your adulthood.” 

Dedue sighs. “I feel as if I am much too busy for such at the moment. And even to disregard such, I do not believe I have encountered a candidate both suitable and willing.”

“Really?” Dimitri questions, incredulous. “I find it difficult to imagine that women are not lining up to bind you in nuptials.” 

At that, Dedue turns to face him, a quizzical expression plastered on his face. Dimitri only chuckles, amused. 

“I’ve always thought you’d make the most wonderful husband. From your strength, to your domestic skills- not to mention your loyalty, and your kindness.” Again, Dimitri pauses. “You should know that I will not impede your taking of a wife, Dedue.”

“I have never believed such of you, Dimitri. Though I do not intend to take a wife.”

“Hm?” 

“I do not suppose we have discussed this before,” Dedue continues, voice dimming to become something closer to a mutter, “but my preferences lie… elsewhere.” 

“Ah.” Upon hearing that, Dimitri begins to fiddle with the hem of his cloak, and Dedue wishes he’d hesitated before speaking.  _ It simply feels so warm, and pleasant, and welcoming, to talk to Dimitri in a fond fashion once more _ \- 

Breaking the silence, Dimitri croaks out a lonely sentence. “Much the same could be said for me.”

Stunned, Dedue splutters. “I-I see.” In tandem, he slips his hand over the edge of his own cloak, and shifts it between his thumb and his forefinger. “I did not suspect such to be the case.”

“Neither did I, Dedue.” Dimitri diverts his gaze away from Dedue’s eyeline, bashful. “Perhaps it is because I have always taken you as being irresistible to women.”

Even though Dedue is sure- fairly sure, at least- that Dimitri isn’t trying to imply his own interest in Dedue, he can’t help the blush which spreads across his cheeks. Having always known himself to be a powerful blusher, he hopes that the darkness of the night conceals his expression somewhat, as he suspects that Dimitri will not avert his eyes for too long. 

Dedue wants him to, though, as a slow, creeping thought overtakes him; that he’s never thought of Dimitri marrying. That he’s never wanted to, or cared to prompt Dimitri on the subject in the way Dimitri has done for him. In his mind, they’re together.

It takes all of his willpower for Dedue to not run, right that second, back to the sanctuary of his own room. 

“I suppose,” Dimitri continues, “I shall have the pleasure of meeting your husband, then.” A trace of shyness enters his voice as he begins once more to speak. “And if the question vexes you for too long, then I’d happily take your hand, if only for convenience.”

A rush of blood fills Dedue’s head. He can barely move, and whatever image he might have had about escaping the current situation is almost laughable now.

Unaware of Dedue standing stock-still, eyes wide, Dimitri chuckles dryly. “We’d be able to sleep in the same bed, then.”

“...Doing so would no doubt be a burden on your own choice of spouse.” It’s hardly the first amongst the many pressing questions Dedue has summoned in his mind, but it’s the first he can push out of his mouth in the interest of ending this sudden face between them.

“I would have taken you, Dedue.”

Neither of the two speak, creating a silence punctuated solely by the subtle whip of the blowing winds. Until Dimitri takes a step forward, his lighter evening shoes soft on the stone below. 

  
“I’d always take you, Dedue.”

As if everything he could possibly feel is urging him forward, Dedue stoops, gentle, and presses his lips to Dimitri’s. It’s brief, but Dedue is sure even as he does it that he’ll never forget a single second of it. And when he draws back- the expression on Dimitri’s face is one he’s sure he’ll never forget, too. Unmoving, wide-eyed, a wayward dribble of spit clinging to his bottom lip- Dedue isn’t sure whether it’s his or Dimitri’s, and neither is he sure which of the two options is the most profoundly revelatory. They could very well be even. 

It hits him, then, that he hasn’t said anything. But anything too great feels heavy on his tongue, too weighty to be spoken. 

He stammers, and summons up the first thing he can think of, the first thing he feels.

“Be wed to me, Dimitri.” 

The kiss Dimitri places on  _ him _ , open-mouthed and tongue-to-tongue, suffices entirely as a response. 

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading !!! i had a lot of fun writing it
> 
> if you enjoyed, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment! i'm also @meowcosm on twitter, where i'll post the rest of my dimidue week fics!


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